


Brandon Snow

by ancient2new



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Aegon's Conquest, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Magic, Dragons, F/M, Gen, Magic, Northmen know their magic, The North does not kneel, The Old Gods (ASoIaF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21680332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancient2new/pseuds/ancient2new
Summary: A North with more Old Gods Magic.......
Comments: 23
Kudos: 142





	Brandon Snow

A gruesome Story...  
...........................

A dark-eyed youth, pale and fierce, sliced three branches off the weirwood and shaped them into arrows, his royal brother watched him doing so and frowned.

Eight Crannogmen, one from each of the Clans of the Neck, stood around the young man who had cut of the branches from the white tree and they prayed in the forgotten Tongue. The young man himself prayed in the Old Tongue and his royal brother added his prayers in the same Tongue. Behind the Crannogmen stood the other Bannermen of the King and filled the place in front and around the White Tree. They too prayed in the Old Tongue, some a bit stumbling but still, all knew the words.

When the young man finished with the last overly large Arrow, all stopped their prayers and the Crannogman stepped so close to the man in their middle that they all could touch him.  
The men of the Neck each cut open both of their palms and then coated the White Arrows with their blood. The King that had prayed with his brother also cut open his palms and added his blood to that of his men from the Neck.

Behind him, all other bannermen of the North came forward and made cuts on their arms and then they too added their blood to coat the three oversized Arrows.

When all around him gave their offer to bath the Arrows, the young man himself tugged off his clothes till he was naked.

When the last of the men around him had given from their blood, the highest Clanman from the Neck stepped behind the naked young man with the black Stone knife that all had used to make their gift of blood.

The Crannogman forced the knife into the skin over the left shoulderblade and started to carve the signs of the Old ones into the snowy skin, all the while praying in the forgotten Tongue.

The young man whose back turned from the color of snow to the color of the Weirwood leaves was silent though. His sparkling grey eyes stayed fixated on the three Arrows that he had made with his own hands.

The Clansman finished his carving on the back and then he and the King himself stepped to the front of the young and silent man. The King had now a Stone knife too in his hands.

Again the Crannogman started to pray in the forgotten Tongue while the King made his prayers in the Old Tongue.

The young man still kept his silence, even though now two knives carved ancient symbols in his chest and arms.

Finally that was done too. The blood from the young man was flowing freely onto the Arrows now.

The King grabbed the head of the young man and put his mouth to the young man's ear.

"Brandon, brother of mine. Blood from all of us to your weapons, blood from you to guide them well."

And the young, naked, carved up and bleeding man nodded.

He bent down and took all three oversized Arrows in his arms and as he did so, his wounds stopped bleeding and all the blood that had been given for the Arrows dried away. The liquid red that had coated the White wood dried away and the wood was white again, only the arrowheads were still red.

The countless symbols that had been carved into the back and chest and arms and legs of the naked man dried up too and turned dark as if they were already many years old.

The eyes of the young man turned as red as blood, as red as the leaves of the Weirwoods and the grey color only returned to his eyes after he then gave all three Arrows into the arms of his royal brother and redressed himself.

Brandon Snow took then a deep breath and the Lord of the Forrester Clan came forward to him and gave him the newly made bow.

The men of the North looked from Torrhen their King to his Snowbrother while they still put pressure on their self-made wounds.

And all nodded.

.......................

They left for the Trident in the morning after Brandon made the Arrows.

Thirty thousand men and even some warrior women, the blood of the North at their Prime.

On the long way from the Heart of the North down through the Neck, people of the peasants and of the ones that were not among the warriors for other reasons, came to the nightly camps of the King and his brother and offered a gift of their Blood to ever strengthen the Arrows and the Bow too. Many gave also a blessing for the Snowbrother with a bloodoffer, most among them the Woodhunters and Crannogmen. The last day before the thirty thousand left the Southern most part of the lands and stepped into the lands of the Severners, the Clanmothers of the Neck came to Brandon Snow.

They took him with them and allowed no other men or women to follow them but for one small boy and his sister, a maiden grown.

The Clanmothers returned with the brother of the King deep in the Night and Brandons dark grey eyes were now silver, so pure a silver that they looked like starlight. The Maiden was not maiden anymore, blood on her dress gave clear evidence to that and she kissed the Snowbrother and left with Clanmothers without any word and without any glance back at the man that made her a Woman.

Proud was her stature, beautiful her face and her slightly slitted eyes were of the same silver as the Snowbrother ones were. She and the Clanmothers stepped back into the mystery of the Neck and after just a few moments, nobody could even see their trace anymore.

Brandon though, he was carrying a bundle of green cloth in his arms, splattered heavily with red.

A small and thin Crannogman stepped forward, swallowed heavily and with tears in his eyes he took the green bundle with shaking hands.

Brandon said nothing but kneeled down in front of the small man with his head bent as if he waited for a sword to fall.

The smaller man shifted the cloth into one of his arms and with his free hand he carefully tilted back the head of the King's brother, so that he could look into Brandon's eyes.

Both men, standing and kneeling, looked into each others eyes and after a while the Crannogman nodded. He took out a Stone knife from his belt, opened his palm and then laid his bloody hand over the Snowbrothers face and finally let it come to rest on the mouth of the young man.

Brandon swallowed a couple mouthfull of hot blood and then the Crannogman tugged his hand away and followed on the same way that the Clanmothers had left.

The warriors of the North stared at the bloodfaced Snowbrother but nobody even dared to make a sound while slowly the blood disappeared into the skin of his face and he started to glow silver like his eyes, silver like the stars.

The older ones understood what had happened and the younger ones were feeling a mixture of awe and fright. The bloodgiving for the Arrows and the Bow, that all had understood and many had made an bloodoffer too but what had happened here, most never had seen nor heard before in their life.

The common warriors and the Lords and even the King then took to their knees as Brandon still was and all started to pray in the Tongue of their lands and from the grounds on which these thirty thousands now kneeled upon, the mist started to rise and it grew thick and thicker.

.....

In the former lands of the Hoares the morning started with a fog, so thick that nobody could see through it and so all overwhelming that it seemed to cover the whole region, from the Neck to the Trident and from the borders of the Vale to those of the Westerlands.

The ancient Island near the new ruin of Harrenhal was unreachable and after a few fishermen had tried their daily business and disappeard without any noise or trace, nobody dared to put even a finger into the water of the God's eye.

The fog seemed to still all life in the lands, the people stayed in their homes and those that had to leave the security of their houses and villages, prayed the whole time the holy prayers of the Sevens. The peasants that lived near the Rivers that made the Trident, often heard low and hoarse chuckling when they prayed to Father and Mother and Crone and the others of the Sevens, less when they did it inside of their homes and more and louder if they did so outside. It was as if there was living something in the neverending fog, something old that was amused by their prayers. And the people prayed for the Sun to ease up the fog that darkened the lands for many a days now.

The Blackwoods of Raventree Hall did not pray to Mother and Father and the others, they instead went to their old but dead Weirwood and opened their palms. The Weirwood awoke to live again during these days and with everyday that the fog lasted, it grew stronger and whiter and on the day that the Dragons and the Army of Aegon Targaryen arrived on the South of the Trident and the ones that travelled in the all darkening mist arrived on the North of the same River, the Weirwood of Raventree Hall stood once again proud and of white wood, a horrible smirking face with freshly bleeding eyes carved in its trunk and its top covered in glowing blood-red Leaves.  
And the Blackwoods heard praise for their prayers.

This was the Situation when the Targaryens arrived on their Dragons and with their Army at the Southern Shore of the River Trident.

...................

Aegon stood there on the Southern shore of the mighty Trident. His Sisterwives on each of his sides and a step behind him the highest of the Lords that had bent their knees for during the last few years.

They all tried to see as much as they could, to find out what was in the fog, if there were some parts that were just a bit lighter and not quite as overwhelming as it seemed all over all.

But none of them could see anything, it was a thick grey mass on the other side.

They heard nothing either, it seemed that whatever it was that made this endless fog had not only ended all light but also all noise.

And so the Great Army of Aegon Targaryen was unknowing of anything that was on the other side of the Trident.

Aegon and his Sisterwives took to air on their Dragons, they hoped to see anything from above, any light or any other signs of life. For many hours they were trying to fly over the endless foggy lands but all three Dragons could only be forced along the long borders of the mass, they were not going over it.

Finally Aegon and his wives had to give up for the evening turned dark and darker.

Night fell over the lands south of the Trident and the Conqueror and his Wives went into the large Tent that had been erected for them. The highest Lords of their Army joined them to talk about what should be done at the next morning while the thousands upon thousands of men tried to get some rest and the three Dragons were each feed with an whole Auerochs.

Sentries were placed along the shore and looked at the Fogwall with unease.  
None of the men in the Great Army found any real sleep though in this Night and the Lords and the Targaryens talked through half the Night but with had no idea what to do.

Then suddenly, it was barely in the hour of the Wolves, the Lords heard the Dragons growling loudly and noise became even louder in every passing moment.

The Targaryens stormed to the outside of the tent, the Lords followed them and from everywhere in the huge camp there were shouts to hear.

The sentries at the shore screamed a warning that something was coming out of the fog and hundreds then ran to Trident.

They could see a small boat coming from the Northern Shore, torches burned on both ends of the boat. The watchers could see two men standing in the middle of the boat and ten men before and behind sitting and rowing.

The men on the shore mumbled full of excitement but also unease and the former King of the Rock and now Lord Lannister and Warden of the West stepped to the Targaryens.

"The man standing on the the left side is Torrhen Stark, the King in the North. The man beside him is unknown to me but he looks to be of the Stark blood too."

The Targaryens nodded and then Aegon bid his men to let the boat arrive.

A short while later, when the man beside the Northern King got of the boat and stepped in front of the Conqueror, all could see that he had silver eyes and blood on his lips. The heathen man looked to all the men and the two woman in front of him and his bloody mouth slowly twisted itself to a gruesome smirk.  
He had not bowed his head as he should have done in front of his betters and his eyes glowed with a sinister mirth.

"My brother, Torrhen King, the Stark of Winterfell and King and Ruler in the North, bids you his greetings. He came to see the Dragonlords and to see their Dragons themselves, for the last of them were slain in the North thousands of years ago by our ancestors."

Visenya narrowed her eyes angrily when she heard the arrogance of the northern barbarians speech and Rhaenys looked haughty. Aegon though felt anger deep in his heart and that anger only grew with the next words of this soon dead man.

"My King is not really impressed by what he is seeing and will give you a day to leave these shores for the more southern lands that are yours by right of conquest, just as these in the North are ours by the rights of the Gods."

Hundreds and thousands of angry shout were hurled at the Northerners and the Targaryen promised them burning woods and no leniency.

The man smirked before he turned to step back into the boat with his still standing King and just when the boat was in the midst of the Trident, the King then opened his mouth and shouted words that would never be forgotten in the Centuries to come.

"My brother spoke for me and i speak for our Gods. They will feast on Dragons tonight."

The Army of the Targaryens shouted insults after the disappearing boat and lit then thousands of torches.

Soon after that, countless torches were lit on the Northern Shore too and voices there, countless voices there started to sing a gruesome song in an ancient tongue.

The army of the South readied themselves for the fight and the Targaryens climbed onto the back of their Dragons.

The Warriors of the North, still nearly all hiden by the fog, were singing the old songs of Theon the Andalslayer and they were growing ever more joyful about the carnage to come.

And Brandon took his bow, a tall masterpiece of the Forresters, made from Weirwood and Ironwood and its bowstring double as thick as all normal.  
One and half of Brandon's own height was the Bow tall and only the best Archers could ever hope to even halfway draw the string. A bow made just for the overly large Arrows made by Brandon's own hand.

The Snowbrother had always been one of the best Archers oF the North and so he had trust in his talents and strength and that the old magic would work to evermore enhance it. The boy of the Neck had been a Seer and with his blood given to Brandon by the wishes of the Clanmothers, the Snowbrother had thus gained the true eyes to find the weaknesses of the Dragons and to guide his Arrows into them.

He saw the first of the Would be Conquerors fly towards him with great speed and thus he took his first Arrow and readied it in the Bow. His silver eyes looked to the rapidly approaching Dragon and its rider. A smile stole itself on the face of the King's brother for this first Dragon had silvery Scales, nearly the same silvery hue as Brandon's own eyes were. It was good to start with this one then, a good omen even.

The Dragon was nearly there, so close already that they all could hear the flapping noise of its wings.

The Snowbrother drawed the string just a tiny bit more and then he let the Arrow fly.  
Behind him the warriors of the North waited breathless and with hope in their hearts and he was sure that on the other sides the Andals prayed for a successful first attack.

Alas their prayers were useless, for Brandon's Arrow did not dissapoint. It striked the Dragons left eye mid-flight and the mighty beast howled and screamed with horrible volume range and the firy breath that the beast was ready to let loose died in these moments, still inside the beasts mouth.

The rider nearly fell off the beast but managed to barely cling onto the back and the Dragon even managed to land back on the Southern Shore. Brandon watched with grim amusement how this rider tried to tug the large Arrow out of the beast's eye but no matter the rider tried, she was not strong enough to do so.

Brandon could hear the prayers behind himself and he too started them while he watched a second flying beast coming towards him. This one was careful to stay too high, so that there was no chance to hit an eye again. The Snowbrother looked for a moment to his King but Torrhen just shook his head. No, this one was not the largest one. Brandon readied the second Arrow and let loose. The Dragon was hit in his leg, just under the weaker scaled part of his knee joint.

The beast opened its giant maw to spit fire but no flames came out and the huge monster struggled. The leg that was hit by the Arrow was straightened out under the huge body, as if there was something forcing the leg to the ground.

Meanwhile the rider of the first dragon was still trying desperately but without success to free her dragon from the Arrow that ruined it's eye. A tall dark haired man, clearly a noble one as could be seen by his armor, was trying to help her but to no avail.

The second Dragon was still struggling to stay in the air when a third one came. This one was way larger than both the other two and darker than the night. The Northmen watched as this huge monster passed the smaller one with powerful Wings.

The King and his brother looked at each other for a short moment and then Brandon grabbed the last Arrow and readied his bow for the last time. He waited.

The huge black dread was already fire through the air but even though it warmed the borders of the fog, the flames died before they reached the warriors of the North. Nearer and nearer came the last Dragon and he opened his jaws again to reign with fire but just before the fiery breath left the mighty maw, the Snowbrother's last Arrow hit the left wing of the flying destroyer.

The fire died before it could be spitted out and instead a gruesome and earthshattering loud roar left the black maw. The flight of the beast became more of a tumble and the rider barely managed to land or correctly said, to crash down near the northern Shore of the Trident.

The rider was Aegon Targaryen and before he could even draw his sword, warriors of the North rushed forward with sharp spears.

The Burner of the Gardener King tried to make his dragon to release a new fiery breath but the black dread could only roar sluggishly. The Targaryen looked with horror in his eyes as the area around the Arrow turned whitish, the pierced black wing was laying boneless and powerless on the ground and with breath that the dragon forced into his crashed body, the wing grew whiter and whiter.

Not too far away from her husband, now the last rider landed with her nearly mad dragon. The leg in which the Arrow was stucked had became near as pale as the Wing of the black one and as the Dragon touched, or more to say tumbled onto the ground, maybe thirty steps away from the bigger one, the pierced leg quickly turned from pale to pure white.

The blood that was streaming still from both the dragons wounds, was slowly turning more solid and where it touched the ground, it turned to small tendrils.

Both the dragons on the Northern Shore were lethargic and offered no help to their riders when the two Targaryens were forced by the Northern Warriors to leave their once so mighty monsters backs.

On the Southern Shore, thousands upon thousands of men looked in awe and in fright of what happened in front their eyes. They then looked to the lone Dragon on their own Shore and they saw that its rider was still trying to tug out the Arrow that had pierced the golden eye and that she had still not managed to do so.

This dragon was as lethargic as the other two were but while the area around the Arrow had turned whitish, no tendrils came from its blood.

But no fire came from its breath either.

And the men in the Southern Army started to think that maybe the Dragons were not meant to rule over them.

On the Northern Shore, the two now captured Targaryens looked with evergrowing horror as their Dragons turned both white, as the tendrils that connected them with the ground grew thicker and as both the Dragons breaths grew shallower.

Slowly the all shadowing fog that had lain over the former lands of the Hoares now grew lighter and by the end of the night, all the fog had disappeard and all the people that lived in the Riverlands and were brave enough to leave their houses, could now look up into the sky and see the stars and the moon again.

When the morning finally arrived and the last torches were put out, the situation was so astoundingly different from the day before, that ten thousand songs would be sung about it in the centuries to come and none would even be able to tell half of the things that had changed.

On the Southern Shore, the dragon Meraxes was dead, its head had turned to white wood though the rest of the body remained in silver scales. Rhaenys Targaryen was bound in iron by the nobles that had bent their knees before her and her siblings about a year ago. All Lords and soldiers that had tried to help her were slain and their blood had colored the Southern Shore of the Trident in red.

On the Northern Shore, the two dragons had turned to huge white monstrosities with red markings. They were not really being turned into Weirwood trees but something like a queer and deformed variant of the most noble and holy of all Trees.

Between them though, there was a Weirwood, a true Heart tree. It was Brandon Snow who had turned into the magnificent Tree and it was his face that looked out to the Southern shore, was his own calm and serene but also unforgiving mien, just as it was in the moment when he himself paid the price for the gods help.

The King in the North sent an emissary with a boat and before the sun reached her highest point, the new leaders of the Southern Army agreed with all that the Northern King asked of them. The two Targaryens were then sent over to the Southern lands, still in deep shock and when the three Targaryens were then together again and finally began to truly understand their new situation, the Lords in the South sent their own emissaries to the Northern Army.

For another week, the North and the South spoke to each other at the Shores of the Trident and then finally all was made clear and true in words and in ink.

King Torrhen left the Riverlands with his warriors now for all to see but no Riverlanders, no Seven believers bothered them during the long way back to the neck. Too shocked they were still by what had happened in the weeks before and too much they were afraid of the magic that had turned the Dragons into shapeless Weirwoods.

......  
Many moons later a woman gave birth in the Neck to her boychild and named him after his father, Brandon Snow.


End file.
